A Very Confused Harold Finch
by j.wolfe93
Summary: Decisions, decisions, decisions.


**Finch**

A loud clang from somewhere above brought Harold out of his slumber. He slowly managed to open his eyes, squinting as he adjusted to the darkness. He panicked for a brief moment, being slightly disoriented but the memories of the previous few days quickly flooded his mind. The place was dingy and damp; it made him shiver from disgust and cold. Harold tried to stretch out his limbs, his body in pain from sleeping on the cold cement floor of what appeared to be someone's basement. He tried to stand up but nearly fell over. A sharp pain pierced his lower back**. **His hands were tied behind him at the wrists and his feet tied at the ankles. As he lowered himself back slowly and rested his head against the stone wall behind him, the aroma of something cooking crept into the room making him conscious of his hunger. He waited. Judging by the smell of what he presumed was breakfast, Root was alive, well, and nearby.

**Root**

Fresh squeezed orange juice, toast with butter, and a crisp omelet filled with diced tomatoes and orange peppers- that was her compensation for Harold's rough night. The thought of Finch, _Harold Finch_, downstairs**,** possibly still sleeping in the basement but accessible to her at any moment filled her with excitement. He looked confused and worried the evening before so she slipped him a sedative to help him sleep. Root felt a pang of guilt for tying up Harold and forcing him to sleep on the cold floor**,** but she had no choice and felt it was justified. Root made her way down the stairs that led to the cramped basement, balancing the tray of food in her hands and trying not to trip down the steeps steps. She unlocked the door to the miserable chamber and swung it open as light filled the area around her. There he was**; **her prisoner, awake and huddled in a corner not saying a word.

"Good morning, Harold**.**" She flashed him a smirk, shut the door, and carried the tray over to him.

**Finch**

He watched her silently as she slithered around the room. He perked up at the sight of food in her hands, although he wasn't sure how much he trusted her. Still, his stomach urged him to eat and he couldn't help but give in. As Root approached him, his internal temperature rose. There she was, dressed in what one might describe as casual attire**,** yet for him it seemed more like sleepwear. His eyes examined every inch of her mystery from her bare legs to her eyes**,** which held his stare. What could he make of her? Harold couldn't figure out what he was feeling. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't contempt - more of a mixture of fascination and fright. Root was brilliant; you simply couldn't hate a girl with brains. She kneeled down beside him and he couldn't help but wonder how her legs weren't cold. At that moment, he really wished his hands weren't tied. For one thing, the plastic was digging into his wrists and he was experiencing discomfort from having to keep his arms in the same unnatural position all night long. Plus, he couldn't stand being tortured with something so incredibly delicious in front of him - breakfast.

**Root**

Root wasn't about to untie Harold. Yes, he looked fatigued and in no mood to put up a fight as well as most certainly incapable of getting away, yet she still enjoyed him subdued.

"I made you some food. I don't know if you'll like it, but at this point I really doubt you care." She flashed him an ambiguous look, probably stirring up suspicion in him.

She scooped up some of the omelet, brought the fork to his lips and for a second, Harold look confused and annoyed.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning on doing anything crazy. I just have to make sure you'll behave. You're going to behave for me Harry, aren't you?" She smiled, knowing she had him.

Harold refused to say anything but parted his lips slightly in response. Fork by fork, she fed him that way in silence untill he finished every bit of food she had brought him.

**Finch**

Harold was satisfied. The food was good and although he felt slightly childish having Root feed him, he stopped caring. Root brought a napkin up to his mouth and leaned in, dabbing at his lips. He didn't like her this close to him. Noticing his discomfort, she presented a razor and reached her arms behind him. His body froze in alarm. Her hands found his and for a moment he thought she was going to hurt him, but with one swift movement, she sliced through the plastic that was grinding against his skin. Root took his hand and he held his breath as she traced the marks the binding had left him with. What was she doing? He reminded himself that didn't want her sympathy yet somehow her touch was comforting.

**Root**

Root knew he was one of a kind. Undoubtedly, he was a genius and she worshipped his creation. However, there was more to him. Underneath his well put together and expensive outfits, carefully assembled lifestyle, and his rich vocabulary, he was just as human as anybody else. Which of course, made him just as vulnerable and susceptible to temptation as anyone else. To tempt him, to evoke any emotion from the proper and gentleman-like Finch would give her so much pleasure.

Root liked the way he looked at her. It was as if he couldn't figure her out, as if he finally found a problem he couldn't solve**,** and a code he couldn't decipher. She was close enough to him now to catch a whiff of his smell and as she untied his hands, she felt bolder than ever.

"You don't have to be afraid of me Harry..," she crooned as she slid closer to him, closing the space between them.

With her hands on his thighs, she balanced herself feeling his sharp inhale, loving the effect she was having on him. Her lips met his and she closed the space between their faces. She lifted her hands and traced his jawline with her fingertips, his usually groomed face now rough with stubble. Harold didn't move any part of his body in response. She didn't care. Root wasn't lying when she said she had been waiting for him her whole life. After faking her disappearance as a kid, she was used to operating solo. Her relationships were few in number and she kept them short and used them strictly for the purpose of satisfying her sexual desires. Harold was different. He was the one who was supposed to understand her; he was a genius among millions - like herself.

**Finch**

Harold couldn't breathe. Root had relocated herself and was now hovering over him, her white shirt clinging to her perfect shape**,** and her hands **back **on his thighs which was making his blood cook. He cursed himself for being so vulnerable, for being so _human_. She was supposed to be his enemy. The evil that stole him away from his duties and Reese. She robbed him, overturned his life**,** and to think she was only just beginning. Still, he felt a sick fascination with her. He decided she was his 'Forbidden Fruit' and he was bound to succumb. It didn't help that she had started to kiss him and his manly instincts started to cloud his vision. He didn't want to kiss her back, he wasn't _supposed _to. _No! No! No!_ He thought. He wanted to be released, he wanted to go back to his life, he wanted to see Reese, Carter, and gosh, he even wanted to see Fusco. Unfortunately, the more she kissed him the more he found himself wanting to stay right there.

He moved his lips ever so slightly in response with his breath rapidly escalating and his heart pounding like a hammer. Root noticed the change in his behavior and ended her tender marks of lust and pressed her lips roughly against his, parting them with her urgent tongue. Harold was gasping now and he wasn't sure how to respond to Root's advances. She was in front of him, guiding his hands to her waist. Harold was burning with desire and his feet were still tied together making his excitement physically visible. He was slightly embarrassed at the throbbing bulge in his pants, but he didn't want her to stop.

Almost on cue, Root tore herself away from Harold's face. It was as if she was in a trance the whole time and was only just waking up to realize _this_ was going on. She cleared her throat and moved away from him, gathering the empty dishes.

Harold stared at her. He was attempting to recover himself, but he was still burning with lust.

Root stood up and looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. He tried not to like it. She manipulated him and he would not fall for her advances again.

"We're going to have some wild adventures, Harry," Root whispered. He wasn't even sure what she was referring to.

Harold cleared his throat and spoke his first words to her. "Why...why this, why any and all of this...why are you doing whatever it is that you're doing...?" He asked. She was perfect. Evil, but nevertheless - _perfect._

Root paused at the side of the steps. After a moment of hesitation, she turned in his direction.

"When you find that one person who connects you to the world, you become someone different. I wouldn't want to have you taken, Harold. You're the_ only_ person that connects me to the world."

And like that, she was gone, leaving Harold Finch in the darkness once more.


End file.
